To The Next One

To The Next One

One starless friday's night
I did realize that my life
is mainly made of too late arrivals
and of false starts

Oh God how plenty of supplies you are!
I'm just another excess
that overpopulates another pack of your pets
The kind of things you ussually throw along with dice
That clumsy animal always out of tune with time

I'm seeing a flock of skylarks
feeding from a stream of butterflies
I'm dreaming of the next animal
who will sail the currents of time

Iridiscent and silent their ships jumping stars
The tang of our meat they may dislike
while carrying in their brains
the quiet fatalism of a butterfly
that flies in a hurricane
VABM 11/NOV/12